Rise of the Dead Prince (24 page)

33
Ley Lines and Loopholes

T
he trees that had been in the path of the blast creaked loudly and fell with a crash. The nearest one was some hundred yards away. The break in the canopy allowed a single ray of sunshine to peer down from the west. It bathed a long aisle of the swamp floor in golden light. The light, almost blinding by contrast, stopped when it reached Meier and the still forms of Dor and Trent, lining a path from the heavens to where they lay. The reality of it finally sunk in. He had been too late. Meier felt a stab of g
rief.

“What good is it, Raven? What is any of it really
worth?”
he asked. His voice was shaking. Raven clicked his beak slowly. It was a sound Meier had not heard be
fore.

“That’s a question that each of has to ask, but the answer cannot come from anyone else,” he responded sincerely. Meier pounded his fists into the ground and rested his forehead on the damp gr
ound.

“What have I become?” he asked despondently. Raven sighed. He gazed up at the shadowy canopy above and then the hole in it. He hopped into the light, blinking. His feathers shimmered blue b
lack.

“You are still
you
, Meier,” he said. Meier scoffed. He sat up and looked west along the trench he had
made.

“AM I?” he yelled at Raven. Meier pointed to the trench and the destruction he had caused. All he had tried to do was destroy the skeletons without hurting the hunter. This he had done, but to such a diabolical extent that it was horrifying beyond words. Meier was terrified of himself. It made him feel sick to think abou
t it.

“It’s not you, Meier. It’s this place
…
,” Raven said, trailing off into his own thoughts. Meier looked around. Suddenly, it made sense. This terrible place was different from anywhere he had ever been. It seemed to thrive on darkness. Meier let his mind wander, and it gravitated to his true purpose. His was a heavy burden, but he knew he must bear it. He suddenly remembered himself. A cold truth came clearly through. There was a reason he was here. It was his destiny. Raven was right. These things could not be proven. They thrived on one thing, and that thing was
belief.
What was magic? It was the infliction of one’s will onto the world, and that required belief. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Meier was possibly a fool to do so, but he
believed
. It gave him a childlike drive to fulfill his own prophecy. Crocus had believed in him, and here he was. He had powers beyond his understanding or control, but he knew they were given to him for just one reason. It was the same reason he had died the way he did. He was going to save Valahia. That was his des
tiny.

He looked down on the faces of the two valiant men who had died at the end of the path they had left for him. While he regretted not saving them, he quietly accepted that he had done all he c
ould.

“Let them be the last to die in vain,” he said, clenching the blood-soaked earth with both h
ands.

“Not in vain, Meier,” said Raven, bowing in respect. “Their deeds were witnessed by a raven. They will never be forgotten. They led us here, and we followed.” Meier nodded in agreement. He would remember these two for the rest of his days, however long or short a time that migh
t be.

“I did not even know their names,” said M
eier.

“The hunter was called Dor, and the farmer was Trent,” Raven said solemnly. “I was foolish not to connect the facts before now. Before I found you, I heard a few of their words and watched a minute or two of their lives. I saw them only as two dead men. I never expected them to get so far.” Meier looked at them and then remembered all they had seen on the trail to where they
were.

“Perhaps they were surprised as well. They weren’t even soldiers,” Meier replied. Raven bowed a
gain.

“No
…
they were far more than that,” he said. His stare became distant. Meier nodded a
gain.

“Shall I see to it, then? I’ll have to make sure they don’t raise. It would be a desecration.” Raven did not respond. He was lost in distant me
mory.

“Not yet!” he cawed loudly. Meier was confused. “I’m as much of a fool as you are, Meier! Maybe worse, because
I,
at least, should have known better long ago,” said Raven, who then buffeted his wing to clear the leaves from a roughly circular area in the damp ground. He then began to ever so lightly make scratch marks in the dirt. Meier was completely bewildered. What could be more important than laying two heroes to rest? Still, he felt a certain excitement growing in his chest. He had never seen Raven behave this way. Whatever the reason was, it would have to wait. Raven’s concentration as wholly cons
umed.

Finally, his feet stopped moving, and he hopped. Meier looked at what he had drawn. It looked like a giant tree, with a wide spread of climbing branches, something like an ancient oak. The only thing was that it was upside-down and as such looked like an impossibly large and intricate bolt of forked light
ning.

“What does it look like to you, Meier?” asked Raven. Meier thought again before responding. His initial impressions rema
ined.

“It looks like an ancient tree, only upside-down. It also looks something like lightning,” he replied. Raven nodded and clicked his
beak.

“Both are fair appraisals. One is too fast, and the other is too slow, however, and my imperfect diagram does not reflect the movement. Think of this more as a river at its end. It spreads into many tiny streams that either come to an end or enter another river or sea somewhere else. In any case, this is not a perfect analogy, but for now it will do. Magic flows in much the same way. Some places are more magical than others, with the main difference being that the river that feeds the streams is not equal to the sum of its parts. In other words, it is as though the rain is falling, flooding the streams so that the whole of them pooled together is far larger than the river itself. But I digress. I apologize for being so complicated. Do you follow at all?” Meier thought hard on what had been
said.

“Not entirely. But it sounds a bit like the ground itself feeds the streams somewhat, making it diminish more slowly, as opposed to soaking into the ground like water does to feed the earth. Is that nonsense?” Meier a
sked.

“Not at all, Meier,” said Raven proudly. “You may be a good student after all. It is precisely as you said, with one difference. It is
life
that feeds the magic, not necessarily the earth. In return, a place with an excess of life sends some its fertility to other places along these lines. For example, regions like vast deserts are barren in part because not enough life could be carried to them from other places. Does it make sense?” Meier no
dded.

“It does. To that effect, does this mean that jungles have more magic, and deserts none?” Raven ho
pped.

“Good question! The answer is no, but there is great disparity between the two. Imagine that magic is also underground like wells that sprout up in a fairly even manner across the whole of the world. From there they either they either flourish or fade depending on a variety of factors that I won’t get into. For example, even in the desert, one can find the occasional oasis. It does not sprout rivers because the land drinks it too quickly. Magic does not branch far from places without life because it has nothing to form a symbiosis with. This is why oases themselves are typically small. But I digress into my analogy. Have I strayed too far for you?” Meier hummed lig
htly.

“No, Raven, I think I understand. What does it all mean?” he asked. Raven returned to his dia
gram.

“The point from which raw magic appears into the world is called a wellspring or just well. The rivers that branch from it are called
ley lines
. Now for the relevance. The ley lines are strongest near their source, most especially in places rife with life, such as this s
wamp.”

Meier was beginning to understand. He nodded slig
htly.

“Is that why?” he asked, gesturing to the tr
ench.

“Yes and no,” answered Raven, hopping around the drawing to the other side. “It bears mention that all those with magic are themselves tiny wellsprings. Their magic goes with them everywhere. These people respond to ley lines, but it is in a fairly minor way. At least that is
normally
true. Now picture this. I drew only one river for a reason. Sometimes, albeit rarely, a wellspring spills out extremely unevenly in one direction. This creates a huge ley line that then pours a large amount of branches in that same direction. And that is what we have here in this swamp. Now imagine this. What if someone were to dam this giant river right here?” Raven asked, making a single claw mark just before the forks began. Meier looked on with inte
rest.

“It would make a lake or at least a large pool. But does it make a difference with magic? You said the wells are not necessarily stronger than the rivers. Am I right?” Meier a
sked.

“Yes, you are,” he replied, clearly excited, “which proves you are paying close attention. That is good. Now magic cannot simply be contained along ley lines. Unlike water, it flows through anything in its way. As such, ‘damming’ a ley line in not possible under regular circumstances, but once done, it has much the same effect as damming a river. It pools into a monstrous concentration of raw magical energy. The act of doing so requires an extremely powerful form of dark magic, and it requires a very long time to come to fruition. For example, the larger the dam, the longer the construction. Once completed, it actually begins to
exterminate
life in the immediate area, flooding it with such a powerful radiation of raw energy that nothing can withstand it that is not already dead. In fact, even the undead users of dark magic can be overtaken by such a place.” Raven explained this all with wide-winged gestures. He took a second to take a few breaths. Meier nodded but had a relevant ques
tion.

“If the flow of magic is dammed, how did
this
happen?” he asked, gesturing to the trench again. Raven hopped a
gain.

“I was about to tell you. To keep our existing analogy in place, what happens when a dam begins to overflow?” he asked. Meier hummed a
gain.

“Well, there are gates that they open to release any excess and prevent the overflow from happening. It creates a smaller river as a result.” Meier remembered learning about that somew
here.

“Exactly right!” Raven exclaimed. “Now imagine that instead of just the normally strong flow of water from a floodgate, you get a monstrous linear blast in several directions. It would temporarily make those places as strong as the magic at the source itself, turning the stream into a hyper font of pure power. In other words, your spell did not entirely come from you. It was amplified exponentially. I’d say it was like dropping a needle on a stone floor and hearing the clarion of a pan clattering. Still, there is great power in you, Meier. I can’t imagine what would have happened had you tried to do something truly violent. I think we’d all have been destroyed in a volcanic blast that spread for miles. You’re a pure natural, Meier. Incidentally, that spell with your saber was sheer brilliance.” Raven bowed in respect. Meier returned the bow. Coming from Raven, it was lofty praise in
deed.

“Thank you.” He looked down at his rickety saber, and his gazed turned to the dead faces of the men beside him. If only there had been something more he could have
done.

“Undoubtedly, you wonder why I take the time now to tell you this, given what has just happened. Such a time as this should be for mourning. But not today, Meier,” Raven said happily. “What happened here has given me the knowledge I needed!” Raven cawed once as a sort of c
heer.

“What do you mean? These men died, and in this spot, so you could get more information?” asked Meier incredulously. It didn’t seem right. Was Raven regressing to some terrible version of him
self?

“Yes!” he squawked. “But it’s not like you think. Hear me out. They died here, and you are presently infused with unimaginable powers, Meier! I’m saying it’s not too late to
raise
them! You aren’t a necromancer, but this is a loophole situation. You should be able to do this one thing.” Raven hopped twice. Meier was mortified, and his face showe
d it.

“You mean to turn them into
strigoi?”
He thought about what these fine men would have wanted, and this was
absolutely
the last t
hing.

“Not
strigoi
, you boob! I said
raise. Raise!
Like the necromancer. Like you!” Meier felt a strong wave of emo
tion.

“You mean I can raise them so they won’t be mindless?” Raven hopped again. He was very exc
ited.

“Yes! I think you can do it!” Meier looked at them a
gain.

“They would be like me?” he asked. Raven was quick to an
swer.

“They wouldn’t be
exactly
like you, Meier. That’s because no one is exactly like
you.
They wouldn’t see the world in color as you do, and they wouldn’t be able to speak. Aside from that, they would be themselves, but they would never tire! Think of what they could do!” Raven was still excited, but Meier’s had faded. Would they have wanted that? It was a difficult decision. Meier was conflicted. Being a mute and in the gray state at all times might be an extremely cruel thing to do to them. Still, these men had shown one thing above all others. They wanted to get to the necromancer as much as he did, and this would give them that chance. With a curt nod, he made his deci
sion.